


One of My Kind

by jaxdaws (divinepotato)



Category: Far Cry 3
Genre: Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Edgeplay, Exhibitionism, M/M, Orgasm Denial, Photography
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-04
Updated: 2016-02-04
Packaged: 2018-05-18 04:03:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5897521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/divinepotato/pseuds/jaxdaws
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason takes pictures. Vaas doesn't mind so much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One of My Kind

**Author's Note:**

> Dub-con tag for sex under the influence of drugs. But.. That's pretty par for the course with Vaas. xposted from my tumblr, so you may have seen it there. That was a while ago.

It takes three weeks of being thrown over, against and onto every conceivable surface and fucked within an inch of his life for Jason to realize that when Vaas is really disgustingly, balls to the wall off his face on whatever his drug of choice is that evening that he is not so much lenient as outright enthusiastic when it comes to accepting Jason’s suggestions during sex.

It’s not that he doesn’t like the sex. He does. Immensely. The soreness for two days after with whatever lubrication could be scrounged to hand at that particular moment in time Jason could do without, but it’s the teasing that gets to him more than anything. If being called Vaas’ bitch by the man himself was barely tolerable, once word gets out of their activities, (Jason steadfastly refuses to call it an affair. He would eat his own gun before having an affair with Vaas,) the others take to catcalling him as he passes, asking him for a round or two.

Of course, he beats one down in a pique of anger that manages to impress even Vaas himself, but that doesn’t abate it much. He can’t beat every single pirate in the compound bloody with his bare fists, and while Vaas is more than liberal with his men’s lives, it’s just not economical to lose half your cannon fodder because California boy is a fucking princess and can’t take an insult on the chin like a man.

The point is, once he’s finished seething about the aforementioned irritation, Jason was sick and fucking tired of rolling over whenever the fucking wind changed and Vaas was in the mood. But he’s the tiger here, waiting patiently, stalking. If there’s anything being on the island has taught him it’s not to so much as rush headlong into taking a shit unless you wanted to be caught with your pants around your knees. So he waits. 

GHB, he’d noticed in the little blue vials Vaas knocked back on occasion, gave the pirate a slow, relaxed high. Too boneless to do much of anything, he liked to be ridden, slow and easy. The only time he’d taken it around Jason had been a swelteringly hot afternoon, the fan whirring lazily overhead had done nothing to abate the muggy humidity. Between the drug and the shimmering heat it was a snail’s race to get off before one of them passed out or fell asleep, and it was one of the few times Jason had enjoyed himself without expecting it. The slow, deep roll of their bodies had been better than he’d anticipated.

It wasn’t what he wanted.

Speed was good. Jason wasn’t entirely sure that Vaas wasn’t on speed 24/7 with his general demeanor, but if he was, then there must have been a supply somewhere other than within the reach of the other pirates. It wasn’t enough, of course. He thought maybe, rohypnol, but part of him wanted Vaas more lucid than that.

In the end, he has Benny cook him something in exchange for his entire stash of hotsauce. He didn’t ask what was in it, and was told only that it would do the trick. Benny, to his credit, didn’t ask questions other than what he was trying to achieve, and Jason sincerely hoped he enjoyed those six months of squirrelling tabasco away. Fuck.

He slips it to Vaas in a lukewarm beer that the other man took with a suspicious squint, but knocked back anyway, because hey. Free beer. (Granted, it was his beer, but two bowls in Vaas plain didn’t give a shit, and all beer was good beer on Rook, when sometimes the taps ran dry. That was when shit really started getting hairy.)

He sits there quietly and sharpens a machete, knowing that it was kicking in only because Vaas is looking at him with a shit-eating grin and gesturing at him, beer in hand, as if in the throes of some kind of world-shattering epiphany that he couldn’t quite verbalize. “You fuck,” He said finally, frowning. “You little fuck. You drugged me, you piece of shit–” 

 

Suddenly, Vaas is laughing, shaking his head a little too wild to pass for sober. “Damn, Snow White, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

He stands, shaky, and falls, with just enough time for Jason to hook his arm around the pirate’s waist, that red wifebeater riding up his belly, and damn if that isn’t a sight. “Easy,” Jason says, guides him back inside, away from prying eyes. He’s not cruel. “Easy.” He repeats, and deposits Vaas in a chair. 

 

“There’s meth in this,” Vaas observes, sucking at his teeth with a considering sound, and Jason is almost surprised by the fact that he can pick that out. Of course he fucking can. The thing is, now that he has Vaas like this, he’s not quite sure what to do with him. Not quite sure what to do first. Sure, the pirate would look a damn sight choking on his dick, but the artist in Jason wants to document it. 

In his internal battle, the artist wins out. Vaas is curiously compliant when Jason manhandles him back onto the floor and binds his hands behind his back with some of the rope they have laying around (for exactly that purpose.) Well and truly in the grips of whatever Benny has cooked up, Vaas takes it in his stride, dark eyes staring up at Jason like he can see straight into the American’s soul. Jason is fucking certain he’s doing it to unsettle him, because the next moment Vaas is grinning, wide and bright.

Jason has a camera. It’s a shitty polaroid from the seventh circle of Hell, but it’s a camera. He’s been looking on the ships they loot for a new one, but for now, it’ll suffice. 

 

“You know,” Vaas says, conversational, breaking him from his thoughts, “If you wanted me on my knees, you only had to fucking ask.” He’s shuffled forward from where Jason left him, the awkward bind of his wrists making it difficult to lean, but he manages some how, nose pressing into the junction of Jason’s hip and breathing quietly.

“Come on. That’s what you fucking want, isn’t it, hermano?” He’s still too mouthy to completely under, but Jason lets Vaas guide for once, and says nothing, lets him run his mouth, and press into the hardening line of his cock through his pants. Something tells Jason it’s not the first time, and that’s only confirmed when Vaas wastes no time in sucking him down like he’s got somewhere to be.

Jason lifts the camera and it’s not right. The angle’s wrong, it’s artificial. It looks staged. Letting it fall around his neck again, he cups Vaas’ cheek, ignores the indignant growl, and hooks his thumb into the corner of the pirate’s mouth until he’s pulling off to swear, mouth stinging from it. “Like you mean it,” Jason demands more than instructs, and lets him go again, and this time Vaas sucks like he’s trying to prove a point, and almost succeeds when Jason’s knees bow a little. 

Lips spit-shiny and pink with pressure, it’s a little better. It’s better still when he hooks his fingers across the back of Vaas’ neck and pushes ‘til he feels the spasmodic clamp of the pirate’s throat, working around the head of his cock to force him back, defiant to the last. Vaas’ eyes water when he gags, and that’s perfect, that’s fucking perfect– The shutter snaps with a click, and he casts the ejected picture aside, letting Vaas mouth into the curve of his hip and suck down air.

“Better,” Jason praises, and crouches long enough to work Vaas’ pants open for him in reward, stroke his cock a couple of times until he’s twitching into the light grasp and biting frustration into Jason’s shoulder. “No,” The American tugs him back by his hair and stands again, “Not finished.” He seats himself in the vacated chair and spreads his knees until Vaas can shuffle between them, mouthing sloppily at the side of his dick, eyes fever bright and high out of his fucking mind. For once, he doesn’t have anything to say, but that could be because Jason doesn’t give him the chance, pressing the tip of his cock to the pirate’s lips once more, snapping another picture when he takes him in.

He looks at this one, and thinks it’s better. Vaas is looking at him, mouth stretched wide, and in the darkness left by his body Jason can just see his cock bobbing pink and hard, demanding. Jesus. He stifles his groan when Vaas takes him deep again, pushing down on his head and holding him there. A few seconds pass with those dark, dark eyes filling up with tears, before Vaas begins to struggle, running out of air. “Sssh,” Jason soothes at the fitful whining in the back of the pirate’s throat, just holding him, thumb tucking into the soft flesh under Vaas’ chin. He snarls and fights with his shoulders, and just when Jason thinks Vaas is gonna bite him, he pulls back, watches him choke on nothing, spit running down his chin, still gagging and heaving for breath. 

 

Christ, his own orgasm takes him by surprise, so wrapped up is Jason in his own ‘art’, but there’s something about Vaas taken apart that makes his toes curl when he moans through it, high and satisfied, hitting the pirate’s cheek, then his nose when he turns, indignant. Click. That one’s a keeper, Jason thinks, even when the pirate grunts and wipes his face clean on Jason’s pants in protest.

“That was quick,” Vaas spits, and then actually spits, sour on the ground, “You think you’re some kind of fucking artist?” Surprisingly, he pushes himself to his feet, arms still bound behind him, the weight of his pants shucking them down his hips without much issue at all.

“What am I, your fucking muse?” He looks obscene like that, cock hanging hard and heavy, legs spread wide almost like military rest. There’s defiance there, and Jason’s a damn liar if the fire doesn’t make his dick twitch in a valiant effort to get interested again so quick. The dominant bravado is lost with the swollen pink of Vaas’ lips and the flush of arousal in his cheeks, but the picture’s good and Jason takes it, before crossing, guiding him down onto the grubby bare mattress. 

“If you’re gonna fuck me, you’re taking your sweet fucking time, and I’m thinking of better offers already,” Vaas bitches, but quiets when Jason strokes him again, on his knees, rucking the red singlet up his chest to expose the hard lines of his belly. He hooks his fingers into Vaas’ mouth and makes him suck, and scoops his own cum where the pirate had promptly left it, reaching down and under and rubbing into Vaas’ hole. He hisses like a wet cat and jerks, but doesn’t move, and Jason assumes that maybe it’s been a while for him. God knows, between the jungle and the fact that Jason’s been the one face down through most of it, it could have been a couple of months. It doesn’t abate him any, and he presses two fingers into Vaas, enough to be good, but too straight to rub him right even when he works back down onto them.

He abandons the camera for the time being, preferring to use his hands to tease. Jason lets Vaas rock on his fingers a bit, trying to jostle him into the right angle to little avail, and strokes his cock. He rolls his thumb over the tip again and again, before dipping his nail into the slit to see the pirate gnash his teeth in a combination of surprising sting and frustration. He’s not cruel. He takes pity. Curves his fingers enough that on every deeper roll his fingertips just graze that sweet spot. It doesn’t take him long at all to get Vaas leaking, dripping down the length of his cock. Sweat breaks out across his shoulders, Jason can see it, and he ducks his head, clearly irritated. He’s getting there, slowly.

Jason lets him get close, hooks his fingers in enough to make it good and listens to Vaas moan, voice roughened by the earlier abuse. He’s muttering before long, hips jerking in an effort to rub his since neglected dick against Jason’s belly, and right as his breath hitches into that telltale sign– Jason’s fingers slip backwards, and his free hand curls around the base of Vaas’ cock, cutting him off before he even starts. 

“Fuck!” He grinds his teeth and looks like he’s thinking about grinding them into Jason’s shoulder, but it fractures open on a bleak moan when Jason starts rubbing his prostate again, giving him a third finger to work himself open on. “Fucking cocksucker, I wanna–” It’s all Jason catches of Vaas’ murmuring, his head is dipping as he starts to work himself back again, trying again. Jason lets him, torments him through three more aborted orgasms before his breath becomes pained, and his protests become more like racking gasps to quell the ache in his balls. 

Jason’s hard by then, cock twitching hard upwards everytime Vaas thrashes and desperately tries to defy him, desperately tries to chase his fingers, grind his dick into the American’s belly enough to finally, finally get off, his cheeks red with as much frustration as arousal.

“Okay,” He abates, lets go. Presses Vaas back into the sheets and settles the pirate’s ass up on his thighs. “Okay.” Vaas is too fucking annoyed by this point to be pleased, so he takes it quietly, and his eyes close like a cat’s when Jason finally presses home, sinks into him. That’s the picture– Snatching up his camera, takes two pictures in quick succession. One of Vaas, spread beneath him, body pulled tight by the awkward bind of his arms behind him, the second of his cock buried in Vaas’ hole.

He’s not cruel. The pace he sets is brutal, though, and with Vaas sore and sensitive from persistent teasing, it doesn’t take much to get him howling, back bowing upwards so Jason can see his fingers tearing harshly into the mattress, desperately seeking something to ground himself. He’s fucking loud when he’s high, and doesn’t care who hears, and Jason doesn’t bother stifling him, rocking the mattress across the floor with each thrust.

Jason can see how overworked he is, can see it in the sharp, tight lines of his body, every motion toeing the line between being too fucking much after being teased. He gets his camera ready, can see from the shake of his thighs that he’s right there, and when Vaas comes it’s like a bowstring snapping, his entire body heaving up onto his shoulders. That’s it, that’s the shot– And he takes it, lets the photo churn out and tosses the camera to the side, grabbing the pirate by the hips and fucking him through it until the clench of his muscles drags Jason over the edge with him.

Never mind Vaas, it’s Jason who collapses at the end, body bowing almost close enough that his forehead presses where Vaas has just come all over himself. He barely manages to work his knees out from under the pirate before falling to the side, and the man himself is almost down for the count. Vaas is heaving, so Jason gently rolls him and cuts the rope loose before letting him back down. He wonders for a moment if the combination of all the drugs and everything else has literally broken the pirate’s brain, but a second later his mouth opens with a long “Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.” and he grins, still unable to open his eyes.

Jason leaves his pictures on the desk and curls into Vaas’ side, body shaking and cold with sweat after the exertion, and leaves the pirate to sleep off the rest of his high.


End file.
